The Dopamine Contingency
by Isobel-Zod
Summary: One of Gordon's colleagues has caused the release of a rather unexpected chemical within the brilliant mind of the theoretical physicist.


Dopamine - the chemical thought to be responsible for causing feelings of love and attraction towards another.

Gordon felt like he should be clicking a pair of little red shoes together as he followed the line along the wall, his only guide in a pre-caffinated morning daze. Whatever notion had stirred him from the sheets this morning was an unforgiving one, pushing him towards the office as he took comfort in realising there were very few variables to complicate the next eight hours. The time at which he'd drag himself to the coffee machine may vary; he might be forced to tighten a loose screw in his chair (again); there was a possibility he would break for nourishment a little earlier than usual. Minor disturbances, really. The majority of his time would be spent checking errant formulas and fabricating some ridiculously possible hypotheses for the next set of impending experiments.

However, there was one variable that Doctor Freeman had failed to include in his calculations; something he liked to call 'the Doctor Jones quandary'.

Fellow Theoretical Physicist Caroline Jones stood at the printer nearest the office door, currently tucking a strand of pinned back blonde hair behind her ear. She chewed her lower lip and frowned as the machine whirred, pressing the same button twice, just to be sure there was no possibility of a personnel error. Then, the inevitable event that made Gordon's heart jump every morning - she spotted him and smiled. An increase in adrenaline output had apparently become mandatory in her presence; his pulse spiked as the pink apple of her cheek reflected the clinical glow of the overhead strip lights.

"Good morning, Doctor Freeman," she said, twisting from the waist towards him to engage in the customary civilities. He replied with a polite nod and (if he was being completely honest) a rather half-assed smile, but of course, here was a modern day damsel in distress. It looked as though he'd have to fill in for Barney and play the dashing hero. Not that Barney ever did anything remarkably heroic, besides continuously dodging his bar tab and letting Caroline go ahead of him in the lunch queue.

"Do you mind helping me with this?" The temporary Rapunzel asked, her brow tilting apologetically. "Damn thing's jammed, again. You seem to have a way with it."

Before he allowed himself to think too hard about his inborn ability to tame printers, Gordon pulled out the paper tray and extracted the offending sheet with minimal effort. The result was far more rewarding than the menial endeavor itself and he wondered if Caroline smiled at everyone like that, or whether there was some degree of favouritism in her actions.

"Thanks," she sighed with relief as her document began to feed out from the machine. "I won't keep you; I know you're busy with your calculations from that last sample, but you should let me take you out for coffee sometime."

She had already disappeared down the corridor before Gordon had a chance to reply - not that he could find the right words. Even if he could, her aroma (vanilla and jasmine with a touch of the facility's lavender hand soap) still hung in the air and made it difficult to string a coherent sentence together.

Had she said coffee? Gordon knew how that worked. He began to journey towards his office once more as he formulated the hypothesis; of course, it would start with coffee, and conversation (not his strong suit, he'd admit) whilst they got to know each other. After that, he could only assume she would either chose to continue showing interest, or decide that he wasn't quite the dashing nerd she was looking for. As he opened his office door, he realised he'd failed to consider the fact that she may just want to go for coffee.

The pile of papers and sticky notes on his desk caused the usual grim line to form on his lips, but nonetheless, he sat and sighed, inhaling deeply before pulling the stack towards himself. Gordon often questioned the functionality of his P.H.D. His job, for the most part, was still just as tedious as the numerous occupations he'd taken up in stores and fast-food restaurants whilst he'd been a student. The odd interesting samples came in from time to time and certain experiments were definitely worth ploughing through the paperwork for, but mound after mound of calculation corrections and underdeveloped theories made his shift a long and daunting slog. He'd only been able to concentrate for the grand total of seventeen minutes before he caught himself daydreaming, staring through the glass into the adjacent corridor. Of course, it was just luck that Caroline then walked past and waved sweetly at her zombie of a colleague.

He'd straightened up and shaken the lethargy from his head a little too late; once again, she'd gone before Gordon could mime any sort of greeting back. He could've kicked himself for his lack of cognitive ability whenever she looked his way, but he supposed it was an effect of the rapid release of dopamine whilst Caroline was near.

Love? Was that this was, or was more of a short-lived infatuation? It depended on one's classification of 'short-lived', but he didn't think a month of missed heartbeats and twists of the gut could be included in that category. What was love other than a mental illness? Gordon truly believed it was. He hadn't needed Ian McEwan to tell him that - he was a man of science, but there was no cure, either. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes, sore from the reading and sleep deprivation, and yawned. During the moment his eyes closed, a image of Caroline flashed across his eyelids, looking the same way he'd always seen her, smiling, bright-eyed and hair coiled into a bun at the back of her head. It occurred to him then that he hardly knew anything about her. Knowing her favourite colour may have been a little excessive at this stage in their hypothetical relationship, but he was positive if he asked his other coworkers, at least half would know something of her background, her family, her likes and dislikes, anything more than he knew at the very least.

He wasn't going to ask, of course. That would have been outside the social norms he'd grown up adhering to and oddly out of character.

He was startled from his imaginary field of thought when he heard the click of the latch on his office door. A cool breeze wafted through the room from the air-conditioned corridor and carried with it a rather pleasant, yet nerve-wracking surprise.

"Here," Caroline said softly, placing a mug of coffee on his desk. "You look like you could use it."

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and, once again, smiled before she left. Gordon could still feel an almost tangible ghost of her touch long after the door had closed behind her. He remembered thinking if this was what mental illness felt like, he didn't want to be cured.


End file.
